


human nature

by sillylittlebird



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content, Spoilers for Chapters 1 and 2, Underage Sex, Work In Progress, like this might forever be a work in progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 14:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1944810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sillylittlebird/pseuds/sillylittlebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's late, too late not to be cast on edge when there's a knock at the door that kicks off the evening's havoc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	human nature

It's late, too late not to be cast on edge when there's a knock at the door that kicks off the evening's havoc. A loud, precise rapping of knuckles against the painted wood and you tilt forwards in your chair, waiting for a moment. It's not like you don't trust your classmates. It's not like you're expecting anyone to murder you, and yet all you can think is 'who have I pissed off what have I said today' and every scenario of interactions rolls through your mind like a cheesy film montage before you work up the courage to stand. They haven't knocked again. Careful, carefully you slide across carpeted floors before a shaking hand like a timid moth grasps the door handle. You chide yourself--stop being so melodramatic, Makoto--before you open the door. The cold sweat of your palm makes the task five times more difficult and for a moment you are Hercules.

It's just Togami--although if he heard you say that he'd throw a fit because there's no 'just' in his name, Naegi, and you're beneath him and blah blah blah. He stands clad in the sharpest attire, as per usual; cold features hardened into distaste as he eyes your boxers and t-shirt combo. It's just Togami, pointed lines in straight uniform in all the wrong ways. Thank god, though. He's tapping one shoe against the ground in a beat that synchronizes only to his mind and his blue eyes burn holes into your head. You're about to greet him when he drones;

"Don't ever keep me waiting again." 

You grumble out a sorry. It's strange, how foreign and beautiful he looks in the dim half light illuminating his silhouette in the hall. You take him in for a moment, eyes wide with confusion. He's talented, and beautiful. All of them are beautiful, were beautiful before fate befell them and turned them tired and wicked. They still amaze you. "What do you want?" You ask. You sound so innocent, so doubtful, rounded voice rolling against his snapping tones..

His response is rehearsed, precise as the time told on a clock; "I would like to play a game. Moresoever...well, it's more of an experiment. I require your assistance." And the word 'assistance' is forced out of gilded teeth like a disease, like he's cursing himself for requiring someone so weak to help him. Like the great Byakuya Togami would ever stoop so low to ask for help, but the ominous undertones of the statement send a chill up your spine, tingling at the base of your neck. Why are you frightened, you ask yourself? It's just Togami, it's fine. It's just Togami.

Your hand reaches up and quells this itch of fright, fingertips scrabbling at smoothed skin to stop the fears from growing. His blue eyes snap up, watching your hand's dance across your throat, the tender caress of reassurance. His gaze reminds you that you are being scrutinized. Being tested. "An experiment?" you ask again, an echo that causes annoyance to flash across perfect features. "Wouldn't Kirigiri-chan be better suited for something like this? I don't think I'd be much help in an experiment..."

To accompany your sheepishness you shrug daintily, a tiny motion that he watches again. He himself is more intimidating than the ever vigilant presence of video cameras. The notion of you refuting his offer seems to offend him. He jerks back slightly, optics narrowed in the dim light, and reaches up, oddly graceful fingers adjusting his glasses. "The experiment is not what your stupid assumptions are making it to be." His tone takes you by shock--he is usually more patient with his utter repulsion. "The experiment is on the nature of human emotion; feelings, reactions, and the like. I admit, I much would rather use Kirigiri for this, but you are far more empathetic and understanding to my plight." The honorific is forgotten upon her name, the words curling bitter on tongue. It's made unclear whether he likes her or not.

You, of course, don't miss how he says 'use' instead of 'ask' and it sends more shivers up your spine. Fear is an elixir that slides down your throat and makes your teeth heavy in your mouth, makes your body shake only the slightest bit, but despite all his faults (and your own) you trust him. After a long moment of consideration and a very slight twitching of a golden eyebrow upon his visage, you twitch your chin up in a halfhearted agreement. "Sure," your heavy lips agree mechanically, "why not? I mean, human nature studies might help us...? We're all afraid, aren't we?" It's a question posed to him.

He gives you a curt nod back. Togami looks excited, almost, for a moment, before he turns and walks away, smooth motions carrying him fluidly down the hallway. He does not cast a look over his shoulder--maybe he trusts you, too? Either way, you stumble after him, both your footsteps clunking heavily against the regal carpeting. You think, 'I might be walking to my death,' because Sayaka taught you to not go into your classmate's rooms and Chihiro taught you not to not put yourself in a corner, and you're knocking those two birds clear out of the sky. Togami's steps are a few beyond yours, and you hurry to catch up.

"Sorry, but...why me, again?" You ask, and you're greeted with an almost silent sigh. "I mean, Asahina is pretty--pretty empathetic too, isn't she? And, and Fukawa--I mean, I can see how you wouldn't want to work with her, she might sneeze and...well, also because she seems to be always with you, and..." fear, being it's damn fickle self, suddenly releases it's hold on your soul and the words pour out like a timid waterfall of noise, noise that screams of nerves unanswered. You're about fifty percent certain that his intent is somehow nefarious. Why else would he approach you so late, when you're alone and susceptible to his intimidation manipulations? Your skin ices up in the stagnant air of the hall; sweat pools upon the divot covered surface of your skin.

But you know, you can almost predict his answers. Asahina seems to loathe him, and he her; Fukawa is Togami's personal shadow, always clinging, and due to her Genocidal nature that could sour quickly. "Or--Or Ishimaru?" But he's in no state to assist in anything, because since Mondo's trial he's just been hiding from everyone so you clamp your mouth shut, teeth pulling and worrying at the plush skin on the inside corners of your lips. Suspicion is a horrid thing because it can make enemies of the most susceptible minds. "And...who are we performing this experiment on? Will it hurt anyone? Togami-kun, what are you planning?"

Togami is silent in lieu of your ramblings. He stops short suddenly, heels clicking primly as you crash into his shoulder, letting out a quiet 'oof' which is received in kind with a 'tsk' and an elaborate eye roll of annoyance. Lithe fingers reach into his pocket and retrieve something that glints hard against the eyes. Oh--it's a key. You're standing in front of a room with a crude picture upon the hardwood door depicting the heir with a slack, sullen mouth. The renditions upon everyone's doors are ridiculous, but the slight comedy relief is not enough to ease you into relaxation. He inserts the key into the lock, opens the door, and slips inside, actions that beg you follow.

So you do. You step inside and immediately the air around you is colder, heavier almost--the chill uses you as support and leans against your frame. The door clicks shut behind you quietly, and you realize very quickly that it is pitch black and you two are alone. A light clicks on--silent salvation--and the dim warmth illuminates a tidy room. It's standard, the room designs--they must all be similar, but Togami has moved things around to his liking. His bed is in the corner of the room, his dresser a few feet away, facing the door, and he has arranged a small tea set upon a small table that is covered in a white cloth. Four ties are arranged neatly upon the table's top. Their colors are too dark to make out clearly in the lack of light. The heir walks around slowly, and it takes you a second to register that he is lighting candles around the quarters. He beckons you closer to him, closer into the room. You shuffle forward a bit.

He finishes his work and sets the implements aside upon the dresser before walking forwards, toward you. You don't want to move. You don't want to show him that you're terrified out of your skin and that you're balanced on the balls of your feet, that your hands are clenched to hide their shaking, that you're ready to fight him at a moments notice. He may have the height on you but you're quite confident that you're faster, able to dodge him more quickly and able to get to the door in time to save your life. Your thoughts are pushed aside, stifled as he does not engage you but rather walks by, beginning to circle you slowly. Togami is the snake and you are the hapless field mouse. Your body does not move. You remain standing and staring straight ahead at the ornate wallpaper curly queuing about the walls. He completes three circles around you before he begins to speak, tones lowered into an almost sweet murmur.

"The reason I have brought you here...is not a complete lie," he states, and your blood runs cold, "yet it still holds true. Yes, I would like to complete an experiment, but not upon an unsuspecting classmate. In fact, you are the subject of such a plan. You are an enigma, Makoto." Enigma sounds so strange; you figured you were pretty easy to read. Your name in his voice sounds like a sin, but it sends a shiver up and down your body, electric tingles upon sweat soaked limbs. The surname has been dropped and it's an exhilarating moment. "You're so annoyingly...hopeful. One can see that you are the force that holds our dwindling numbers together. And during the trials...you always sound so guilty, when you yourself persecute the culprit. It is evident," and his tone becomes strained, but he's paced behind you once again and you don't dare look over your shoulder to see his face, "that you...love us. Unfathomable, but evident."

He's right, he's right, he's always right, and you relax suddenly at his words. There is a sort of muted amazement in his voice, as if he's quietly in awe of your charisma, or maybe he just cannot comprehend the love and care you bear for the others (later on, as you recount the events of the evening you surmise that that is precisely the case--no one had ever loved Togami--not just an idea but him as a whole--and it was almost insulting to see someone struggle so hard to fight for a collective's life). He's revolved around you closer, so close that his shoulder closest to you seems to not stop touching you, that you can see the inseams of his jacket despite the darkness, that you can smell the faint scent of a most likely expensive cologne that clings to the soft fabric of his shirtsleeves. His face is stony, expressionless, eyes glittering in the soft candlelight. It's oddly reassuring yet intimidating at the same time. Part of you supposes that he'd like to be intimidating all the time.

He stops, right behind you, chest against your back and shoulder blades, and you feel his oddly heavy breaths pounding against the nape of your neck. Eyelids widen; they feel like they're taped to your brow. You freeze, and are careful, for any move could mean the end of your life. It's so scary how scared you are; you've never been put in such a situation that endangered your life in such a horrid way, and you hold your breath in your cheeks.

His touch makes you jump, but again you do not move, because it is simply his soft hand descending upon your shoulder. There isn't a click of a knife to accompany it either. He squeezes your shoulder lightly, reassuringly, as if to tell you to calm down. He sighs, this time sounding almost resigned, a laid back calm that smooths out the wrinkled tension hanging between you two. He waits a moment. You realize you were holding your breath and you release it. The air whistled through a slight gap in your two teeth. You immediately suck in another breath. Togami lets out a matching breath that mingles in the back of your hair.

"I do not need anyone protecting me," he says after a long moment. This doesn't perturb you, as his other words have. He has always been haughty and always been the loner. "It's insulting for me to accept help from a runt like you and you must recognize that. I can take care of matters on my own." His tones strain themselves against his throat again, and he leans forward slightly, head hovering over your shoulder; lips are pressed right up against your ear. They cause you to jump, almost knocking back into him but Togami keeps you balanced, with his vice grip upon your shoulder. His little speech has gone on for quite a while but you remain waiting patiently. From the way he has been leading up, it sounds like he is about to say thank you. "Makoto-kun," he breathes your name out again in a caustic sigh and his words make you shiver, "you are an enigma."

"To figure you out, Makoto-kun, I must break you." He says quietly and just like that you're not breathing again. His teeth scrape against the soft shell of your ear, tongue just barely skirting the skin. And Togami has the gall to let out a breathy laugh, his fingers tightening upon you; "Don't you see? You're so full of life, so emotional, that I've got to break your proud nature, I have to make you bow your head to me because hell," he laughs bitterly, a strange frayed sound that rubs against your brain the wrong way, "you're the only one around here that dares defy me, that does not recognize my power! You're not complacent in the slightest, oh no, and you must pay the price now." What does he mean? What does he mean? Shit, this was a horrible idea and you were right. Horror runs through your veins like it has all your life--Togami has come apart at the seams, just like many of the others, and you're the source of his wrath. Before you can get away his other arm comes up, wrapping around your chest with palm splayed out over your stomach, bending you down and back into him, "I must have you, I must be the one to break you because we don't deserve you--" he begins to ramble into your ear, but you've heard enough.

Quickly you wrench yourself from his grip, and his fingernails drag cruelly upon your skin. Trembling legs don't move fast enough! He reaches for you again, and you turn to run--god, he's good. Everything suddenly clicks, almost audibly in your throbbing head. The circling, the positioning, the darkness of the room; he had this all planned out. There was no experiment. It would always have ended up to this. And he seems to have even predicted your reaction, because his little stroll has taken him right between you and the only way out. You could, hypothetically, hide in the bathroom, but you'd still be in his room and you two would still be alone. Weighing your options heavily in your head, you don't even bother trying to make sense of Togami's anger. That can be saved for a later day, when you are safe back in your room. Feet swerve on the carpet and turn you to face your new adversary.

Malice wipes off his face and is replaced with a look of boredom. Togami removes his glasses and sighs, pulling out a handkerchief and beginning to clean them absently. He's so far gone, you realize again, and he's switching so quickly between emotions that he's almost psychopathic, a being worse than the Genocider that resides alongside them. For a long moment he doesn't even acknowledge your existence. The door beyond him beckons to you in kindness, and a sudden anger bubbles up in you. No, you say to yourself, I must keep calm, for one of us must have a level head, and it certainly won't be him. 

The tension pulls at your body, telling you to surrender to death but your body tells you to run. So you bend over, palms curling into fists and you're raising these crude weapons when he speaks in a monotone and delivers the ultimatum; "Makoto-kun, if you attempt to leave this room before I exact my wrath, I will kill you.

"I may not kill tonight," he continues, as you shake helplessly like a leaf in the wind, "but it shall be soon; and it shall be in such a way that no one will be able to trace it back to me. Maybe I'll frame someone. Kirigiri-chan, maybe?" A pernicious cackle breaks his smooth facade. "If you left, you'd be doing me a favor, too. With your death upon my hands, I would become the sole graduate and leave. I'll go home and make up a story--a horrible accident, everyone got scared and mauled each other--and the real secret will die with all of your sorry corpses." He smiles at you and you cringe, cowering near the bathroom like a sad child. "So go. Leave. And see how well I keep my promises."

The worst scenario has come true. Your stubborn limbs vibrate in sheer terror (part of you prays desperately that Sayaka and Chihiro never felt this afraid in their final moments because this is the worst, the absolute worst--) as you straighten up. He is watching you--oh, he knows he has you and it's a gross feeling. You tremble past him, because what you're doing can barely be referred to as walking, and reach out. Hands grasp the door handle and tug, and it's unlocked; of course. 

Shuddering, you turn back to Togami, and he smiles. "You're--you're going to kill me anyways," you accuse, and your voice shakes as much as your body. The convulsions are like a mountain crumbling, and your avalanche is landing all over his floor and Togami relishes in the disaster that you leave behind, the shadow of a person braver than you. "And worse, you're going to kill me because...because I want to help you!!" An accusatory finger is pointed at him. At least, that's what you've surmised from his wildness.

He ponders this for a moment, taking a step forwards in his thoughts. Instantly, like someone set off a grenade in your body you jolt, hand flying backwards and grasping the door handle in a death grip. He laughs again, only it's filled with excitement--is this what he was waiting for earlier, you wonder? To watch you cower and squirm in fear? This is like his hypothetical experiment; maybe this is what he had planned for you from the beginning. But he shakes his head slowly after a moment, shuffling towards you in measured movements. Now he really is the python and you are the prey, lost in a whirlwind of delusion and terror. "No," he says, ignoring the last part of your anger, "breaking and killing are two entirely different things. I want you to respect me." his voice changes: it takes on this authoritative tone that you can only assume he uses for business meetings and other orders, "I don't need your love, nor your protection. If someone dared try to kill the Byakuya Togami, they would find it an extremely difficult task. I won't kill you...but I cannot promise you'll leave this room unscathed." He laughs darkly, before returning his gaze to you. 

"If you are going to stay, lock the door." And somehow everything seems normal again--he's snapped back into his usual persona, and you want to leave but you know that he won't go back on his word. Actually, you don't know that, but you do know that, even if he was able to end your life he'd make it a living hell up to the point where he could. Knowing you it'd probably be a stupid accident on your part, too, because you trust them all too much. And you won't voice it, but you believe there's more to this encounter than an 'experiment' and that interests you even though you are aware of the repercussions. Your hand slowly slips off the doorknob and back at your side for a long moment...before you grasp it again and twist it within your grip. 

And then lock it.

He smiles, an almost genuine thing on his bitter cheeks, before reaching out a hand. You let him pull you farther in the room, farther into the madness that he calls payback for something you never consciously did before he releases you and steps back, hands poised on hips. Once again, he investigates you, but this time it is with an obvious distaste that pulls at you before he finally voices the nerve grating thing; "Take off your clothes."

In his voice it is an order, and in his world playing by his rules, you must obey. You shudder in place, though, eyes squeezing shut at the thought because god, it will be so demeaning and embarrassing to strip just on the whims of Togami, and he seems to sense your hesitation because he says, "You're not in a position to deny my request, Makoto-kun." Your name is whispered soft and sensually into the dark abyss of your shrinking pride, but it's still there because you don't want to bow to him. Fingertips grasp at the bottoms of your shirt idly for a moment, the digits shaking once again like when you were in your room--god, you shouldn't have opened your fucking door--before you clutch the damning fabric and tear it over your head, tossing it in an ungainly heap. Your boxers follow suit quickly before you stand naked before Byakuya Togami, heir to the Togami conglomerate and manipulator extraordinaire. Your arms cross over your chest protectively, knees facing towards each other to hide yourself away from him. It's absolutely evident now that this was all planned out. A bitter feeling encases your mouth in slimy hatred of yourself, of his smug grin, of his repulsion at assistance from yourself.

He surveys your shaking form. One crooked finger reaches out, the soft back of his knuckle feeling the slight rivet of fat along your stomach--you're skinny, almost skin and bones save for a bit of fat and muscle. He hmms quietly before his entire hand reaches out and your ribs are held in long, loping fingers, his nails scraping pleasantly against the dips. You shudder in response and roll your shoulders away from him, a sad attempt at a getaway, and you pretend that it's just the fear, but his free hand shoots out and catches your shoulder for the second time that evening. His smirk tells you that he knows, and damn it, he's devilishly beautiful when he's smarmy. Your chattering teeth ooze out the smallest of whimpers; you want to go home, to mom and dad and Komaru and mediocrity; you don't want to die here. You don't want him to break you. You don't want him to touch you.

"Shh." His leery coo echoes in your skull. One second he is controlling you with fear and the next he is pulling you into his chest, leaning down slightly and working his mouth at the base of your neck. The sudden switch makes you gasp--so sudden that your palms fly up and you try to push him away, and you take a step back at the same time, but it backfires because he sticks his heel behind yours and suddenly you're being dipped, arms being thrown around his shoulders to keep from crashing to the floor below. His soft licks and sucks suddenly turn to gnawing and chewing, tongue gracelessly slobbering all over the sensitive skin, and you're still shaking like hell but you can't keep down the moan. His piano fingers grip into the soft skin of your back, the thicker meat being forced down to follow the imprint of his hand, and they are the only things that keep you from falling. Your own grip goes lax; he takes note immediately.

He chuckles into your skin and it's disgusting. This whole charade is disgusting, he should have nothing against you for saving his life twice over, but he knows how to give a hickey and it burns so good. Togami does this sort of tongue flick, then a delicate nibble, then he bites and sucks and flicks his tongue again, and he's so fast and good at it that in no time at all you have seven hickeys marring the pale expanse of throat and collarbone on your body. They're like badges of dishonor, reminders of an evening mutilated. Togami doesn't stop there, though, as one hand travels down and squeezes your ass while he continues sprinkling hickeys across your throat. He bites down too hard on one and to compensate he squeezes you again, massaging your skin and rolling you in his hand like dough. You let out another half squeak. In response you're suddenly dropped unceremoniously, back crashing into muted floors.

"Hmm," Togami says again, licking his lips. His saliva leaves this ominous shine to his mouth, and he turns and walks towards his dresser. You're afraid to move, afraid to breathe, but after a long moment you gather up the courage to bring yourself up to this shaky, half sitting position, arms wiggling underneath the weight of your upper body in weak protest. You can breathe better like this--but Togami's hand comes out of nowhere, shoving you back down until your face hits the scratchy tendrils of the carpet beneath. "Did I say you could get up?" He asks, cruelty the spice upon his palate that crushes into yours.

You don't answer, you merely cry out in pain. His response is to shove your face harder into the unrelenting fabric, turning his hand left and right until your face burns and your cheek is rubbed raw. He asks again, but you can barely hear over the sound of your choked out half screams until you finally cough up a "N-no! Please, I'm sorry!!" That seems to satisfy Togami's needs. He releases you, tendril fingers unsticking themselves from your teary eyed face; the pinpricks of salty liquid threaten to flow freely, but you swallow them back like you would a cyanide pill. He motions for you to stand. You do posthaste.

He's holding a shirt. It's presumably one of his own--it is white, with pearled buttons sparkling upon the front and softened fabric light and airy against one's body. He puts it on you roughly with fingertips scrabbling at your skin, shoving your arms through the holes before standing back and admiring you. It is a very soft shirt, and it smells like him; expensive cologne and new car. You want to vomit everywhere, and let this shitty revenge be damned. Instead, you wrap it tightly around yourself, eyes cast nervously upon his shining shoes. The collar hides the marks he's given you, but it's not long enough to hide the beginnings of your hard on. You can feel his gaze tugged down there, but you don't dare look at his face. The most terrifying part about this game is that you have no idea what he is going to do next, or how he's going to act if you move or blink wrong. An incorrect move could mean getting the shit beat out of you, and the hickeys upon your neck sting in the cold air. They are a morbid necklace.

He tsks. "That's the smallest one I own." Arms around you guide you to his bed and for a moment his grip is kind against you. You are stopped at the end of the bed, looking down and over it. Togami runs his fingers through your hair reassuringly before he positions you at the base, with your legs spread wide and your hands waiting behind your back. Obediently you remain with your lower body pressed up into the metal and soft fabric, hands clasped behind your back, torso angulated over the bed but not touching. His hands wander over you like this for a moment, and the contact feels good against your chilled skin despite the owner of said hands. Fingertips skirt over your belly button, gripping and groping your hips in such a provocative manner that you let out a loud groan, and one of his fingers reaches up and slips into the corner of your mouth. It rubs against the plush of your cheek while his other hand rubs enticingly at your lower stomach. Your stance wobbles and it takes everything you can not to fall face first, defenseless upon the bed. It's incredible; even with how roughly he's already treated you, you begin to get hard again, your boner pressing up against the cool metal of the bedpost. Togami presses his cheek to the small of your back and you can feel his stretched smile.

"Mm," you say, and he responds in kind by draping himself over you, his pelvis rutting up against your bare ass, and forcing you to sink down into the plush red comforter that lies upon the bed. It smells like him, too, and you groan again, cursing yourself for letting him make you feel so good. You don't know how this is supposed to break you. You don't want to find out. Unfortunately it's hard to keep up coherent thoughts when Togami's hand is probing at your mouth and your jaw, velvet skin rubbing up against your ivory teeth, clutching your jaw so lovingly you're not sure if the same person earlier is turning you on, and with the other hand rubbing your navel and lower stomach so slowly and reassuringly. Your eyelids become heavy after about two minutes of his actions. His body weight feels comfortable against your back. You begin to sink into that which is Togami; his scent, his clothes, his bed. He himself becomes a part of you, these disembodied hands wandering ever so close to your own length which is begging to be caressed, his mouth hissing and leering at your back and your ear, mouthing at you through the thin veneer of the shirt and leaving warm wet patches. It's oddly nice and you hate yourself.

"Stay like this, Makoto-kun, don't move," he murmurs, and you murmur back your ascent before he regrettably removes himself from you and leaves. You listen to him cross the room and grab something before he returns to behind you. His hand traces invisible patterns down your spine and the action is so filled with love and desire that you shudder violently below him. You feel him press you firmly back into the mattress and hold you, hold you there until the shuddering deceases and until you take a deep, wobbly breath before you release it, hot air and hot nerves leaving your body. It dimly registers within your sleepy mind that he told you not to move and you didn't, and he managed to calm you down simply by touch. That thought would be terrifying, infuriating, but you're still so curious that you shrug it off.

Fright only dimly registers though before he begins tying your ankles to the bedposts, keeping your stance spread. It's demeaning to be bent at such a level, with your ass uncovered and bare to Togami's greedy eye. You guess and guess correctly that the ties are the things keeping you in place--indeed, a third tie is used to bind your hands tightly behind your back. The fourth is tied around your neck, soft satin rubbing against your throat. Togami ties this one differently, and when you tug at it experimentally he tugs back, and the thing tightens like a noose. "For if you're bad," he mutters in a voice like gravel, and you shiver, exposed and bound and almost unquestioning to the will of Togami. He sounds almost exhausted. Is revenge so difficult to act out?

The removal of clothing meets your ears. The heir crosses back into your line of vision as he walks past the bed and over to the dresser, laying his jacket neatly on the top. It is followed by his tie and you watch as he steps out of his shoes and socks, leaving them alone and forgotten on the side. You let out a breath and he lets out a chuckle that makes you shivery all over again. By now you can kind of surmise what he's planning on doing based on how you're situated; you're definitely not ready for anything like this. You've never even had sex before--this makes you wonder if he has, how he knows how to make you rise and fall, hard and soft and malleable to his own edges. It's in his hands, and the way his jaw angles and catches as he leans over you again, kissing sloppily at your ear and your neck and back, and it's in the way his fingernails relentlessly scrape against your thighs. 

A shuffling behind you, and Togami isn't standing anymore. You can't see what he's doing. Fear tickles in the pit of your stomach when you hear some sloppy sound; a bottle being squeezed and then recapped. "I'm only doing this for your sake, you know," he chides you lightly as gel covered fingers suddenly poke at your hole and you gasp, straining forwards in an attempt to get away, "because if this hurt you then our game would be over, hm?" His conversational tone continues as one long middle finger is inserted into you. It is slippery and cool and it burns like a strange fire and you don't like it much because it pulls in a weird way. You tone him out, lips captured in your teeth enough to worry the skin there almost to papery shreds, and you squeeze your eyes closed and turn your face away.

Your shame is evident. A soft hum greets you as his finger moves slowly; in and out and in and out and in the occasional twisting motion, but each movement is slow and measured. He is taking his time, watching your reactions closely through bespectacled eyes. This is a lewd display of his power, you think, as the strangeness slowly begins to subside. You think hard about other things, trying not to let him gain the upper hand but he's had the upper hand ever since he spoke to you this evening and when his finger twists again, a slow corkscrew you begin to unravel. Lidded eyes, your mouth falls open and your breathing gets thicker, like it's become harder to gather air into your lungs. "Stop, please," you breathe.

"No," he breathes back at you. "Does it hurt anymore?"

Your response is a sad sounding noise but you shake your head and another finger is stretching you open again, adding to the motion. It's not nearly as bad as you imagined, but god it's slimy and you can hear the soft squelches behind you and that's just sick. It feels better, though, more filling, and his skin is warm enough to fill you with heat and a sort of pressed in feeling in your belly. He's going too slowly. He's not going fast at all. You rise and fall with his motions--as the two fingers slips in you arch quietly, as they glide out you remember to breathe and you push yourself back towards him. Stop moving, you tell yourself. Instead you whine at him and he chuckles again, shaking his head in your peripheral vision and adding a third finger to the mess. Now you fade quickly, white noise beginning to sound dim in your ears and your sighs become vocalized although it's something you don't notice.

"I wasn't certain you were capable of making such nice noises," he tells you and that's really embarrassing, despite how he's got three fingers you're willingly riding on. "I'm glad you do, though. I'd like to hear more of them." You blush pink and he laughs, the fingers slowing down to a stop. "However...I think I've been too nice to you." He removes himself and you whine again, feeling so empty. The ominous tone of his sentence is lost on your cloudy mind. He picks up your shirt and wipes the mess off onto the soft cotton before turning back to you, hand resting itself on your behind and rubbing slowly, sweetly. "Beg, you ingrate." He says, voice coming out of his mouth like black tar that drips all over your body in cold air and you groan out a word, arching small and defenseless before him. Your skin is all canvas for him to drool over, to carve out rivers of red and mountains of hate, and he repeats softly, "Beg. Beg."

"Togami-kun," you whimper.

His hand smacks you sharply, a swelling sting upon you and you jolt forwards, certain that was hard enough to leave a welt. You yelp out a confused 'ah?' and look back just as he delivers a harder smack to the opposite side. You're knocked forwards again. Your body slams into the bed, hard on pressing into the bed uncomfortably and you cry out. There are tears again in your eyes and these ones sting your nose, prepared to fall at any moment. You were about to do as he said! What was wrong?

"Sir," he drawls, "you must refer to me as sir. I am your better." He rubs the red marks on your ass, applying pressure to the angry red. You hiss in pain and he rubs harder. His head cranes down and his teeth tease the bruise, biting and sucking and oh god he's leaving a hickey on your ass. It hurts so much more than the ones on your neck did because the bruised skin is so sensitive and you yelp again as his teeth tear a streak into the skin. The pain is numb at first, a rising temperature and nothing more before it pinpricks and slices and finally gashes, and you feel your own warm blood run down the back of your bent leg, curling around your heel and ankle. A fearful noise squeezes itself out of your chest.

"Sir," you say immediately after, licking your teeth battered lips and your voice sounds so unfamiliar you're not sure that it was you who spoke, "sir, please." It astonishes you that you comply so quickly; then again, pain will instigate fear. You don't even know what you're begging for from him. Do you want him to let you go? Do you want him to shove his fingers inside you and let you ride them until that coil inside of you sprung? Or do you want him to just take you, just fuck you right then and there and tear you open until you burst? Maybe death would be a sweeter alternative, and at that thought the tie around your neck seems to tighten. He could hang you from a ceiling fan and watch you spin until the force tore your spine out of place. Or he could fuck you from behind and tug on your shoddy collar until you came, until you blacked out and then stopped breathing altogether and he could leave your body in the garbage chute. You shiver all over and you say, "sir, please, please" again and you force your lips to operate to his mind.

Togami seems frozen for a moment. There is a sharp, shuddering breath inhaled from him, and he seems surprised that you actually begged. I am too, you say inwardly. He clears his throat awkwardly and leans back down, but this time it's not his fingers that enter you, it's something wriggling and warm and coated in saliva and oh god, Togami's tongue is heavenly inside you. You contract and expand under his grip as he slurps and licks and sticks his tongue as far as he can into you, and sometimes his teeth graze your ass and you jump every time they do, because the pain and blood are still a reminder of what happens if you misbehave. You moan loudly, a contraction of pleas and 'sir, sir' all on top of each other and your hands strain at the tie and your legs at the bedposts because you want it to end so badly.

He pulls away and tugs at the ties around your ankles in a feverish craze, undoing the knots before pulling you towards him and flipping you harshly onto your back. You look at him for the first time, and he looks a mess--lips shining, coated with both saliva and the lube he pulled out of nowhere, blue eyes wide and intense, mouth parted and breathing hard. His glasses have slipped down his nose, his tie is a mess and his shirt's collar is wrinkled. You can't imagine that you look any better, with red cheeks and tear stained chin, with frightened boy written all over you. For a moment you stare at each other, his hands bearing down on your sides, your hands crushed beneath you on the bed. It's a long moment. He finally is the first one to break the gaze. Togami's hand reaches down, grasping the back of your head with the utmost care, dispelling most of the fear, before he slowly leans down and rests his forehead on your chest.

You don't dare move. What is he doing? A shuddering breath rumbles from your throat and you take short, harsh gasps in and out, stomach rising and falling but he just remains with his fingers tangled in your hair and his face hidden from view. You can hear him breathing. His own gasps are ragged, like he's forcing himself to remain breathing, remain alive as they seem squeezed out beyond his will. Teeth clack against your sternum every time he breathes out, but you close your eyes and will yourself steady. It's hard to decide whether he's more terrifying moving or not moving. You turn your head experimentally. His fingers release their hold, hand going slack and sliding down past your cheek. As they go by you tilt your head and kiss them, quickly. It's only a peck. Nothing more. But maybe it will make him do something, at least, maybe it will make him move again. Yeah, you tell yourself, that's why I did it.

It solicits something from him, at least. He looks back up at you, slowly, eyes still wide, so you mouth "sir" at him, not wanting to break the silence. His hand strokes your cheek. Blue eyes train themselves upon your own. You stare back. Somehow, now he looks extremely vulnerable, tired, frightened, almost, but those emotions flit by so quickly you think you must have imagined it. He pulls himself up over you again, scooping you to his chest and helping you stand up. Your legs are too shaky so you lean into his embrace as he brings you to the center of the room, opposite a full length mirror. He positions himself so he's facing the mirror and you're facing him. His erection presses against yours through the thick fabric of his dress pants and you realize how bitterly hard he is.

You two still stare at each other. His gaze does not soften in the slightest; he's looking at you like he's confused. His lips part softly and he leans forward, almost kissing you, his mouth skirting the corner of yours softly. "On your knees," he commands, soft voice like nails in a bucket of ice and you slowly sink down until you kneel before him. Your eyes never tore away from his; both of your are paralyzed, lost in each other's depths. Neither of you are written in the same language so he is strange in his might, a tower of gold before a pylon of rock-salt and water. He reaches down, fumbling with a belt he tosses aside, unzips his pants and pushes them down only the slightest bit, erection straining against flimsy boxer fabric. There is a small damp spot darkening where his tip threatens to bulge through. It is immediate what he wants. 

He pushes down the boxers, too, and his length seems to stretch out towards you as the fabric releases him. Togami sighs, a quick huff of exhilaration, and he says, "What are you waiting for?" Because he is aware you're not as stupid as he'd like you to be. You cave in upon yourself, resign again to his reign, and with hands clenching and releasing painfully behind your back you lean forward and take him in your mouth. His cock is warm and thick alongside your teeth, a foreign heat; you curl your tongue around it, testing it, and his breath hitches in his throat. You must be doing something right, then.

You lean forward and take it in more, feeling the skin with padded tongue. Foreskin shifts back as you take in more. Spit pools under your tongue which you coat him in, swallowing the excess and in turn swallowing him a bit. Salty precum follows saliva down your throat and it's oddly satisfying, hearing his labored breaths above you. He's not big enough down your throat that he'd choke you, but if he suddenly bucked his hips you'd definitely gag him down. It'd be much easier with the use of your hands. You're about to say something about it when he reaches down, one hand curling into your hair and beginning to dictate the movement of your head, and the other grabbing the makeshift tie collar and pulling it slightly. You whimper in slight anxiety. You are utterly ignored; it seems like he's just going to hold you, hand curling and uncurling in your hair, slowly moving you forward and backward.

Togami is barely vocal in his lust so you glance up, trying to look at his face. He's not even looking at you. He's staring straight ahead, leering at something in front of him. It takes you a moment to remember the mirror behind you. Oh god, is he admiring himself? You realize that he probably looks rather empowering. Stance wide, still dressed to the nines, controlling someone beneath him and forcing them to do the ultimate embarrassing thing? Plus, you're literally wearing a collar that belongs to him, one that you're simply borrowing. His smirk grows as gaze flicks downwards and locks with your own. You close your eyes, allowing him to fuck your mouth at his leisure.

"Submission," he hisses at you as he slides in and out of your lips, speeding up slightly. The hand in your hair begins to pull you farther towards him and the next time he does his length presses at your throat and you almost gag but you swallow around him anyways. "You're completely...bent to my will now, aren't you?" His voice becomes thicker, muddled with the feelings and he begins to buck into your mouth; you simply let him, small groans slipping out around. "And...it just took a little...manipulation."

In petty revenge you graze your teeth against his skin and he shivers, head tilting back. He moans now, this shuddering uncertain noise that falls strangely upon your ears. So you do it again; you scrub him against the top of your mouth and let your bottom teeth run across his length and instantly he's this mess of a boy, hand's grip in your hair tightening and threatening to pull the follicles from the roots. You're reminded of how earlier he spoke of your pretty noises but he sounds so attractive that you respond in kind, groaning back at him and repeating your actions with your teeth until he's shivering so violently you're actually afraid he's not okay, that you've somehow hurt him so badly that he's broken again.

"Oh fuck," he lilts, and he yanks your head off him, and you're suddenly pulled up, up, up until both your mouths crush together. He's a sloppy kisser, but you're no better. His tongue mashes against yours, teeth clicking and the noises are audible, wet clicks and licks and groans from the back of your throats quelling the stillness of the room. It's definitely not a good kiss and it definitely shouldn't be so you accept it, and he gropes your ass again, squeezing you so tightly you feel ready to explode into his arms. Two halves of a grenade, and you're the pin to him and you've just flown off.

As you kiss he walks you backwards until you are pressed up against the wall with him in front of you. You raise your knee around his waist and he catches it, holding you steady. Right now, there's no bad or good; there's just the raw emotion and you decide to throw yourself headfirst into it instead of worrying about how you got here in the first place. He looks down, curses loudly, and begins kissing you again, physically lifting you back up and carrying you back over to the bed. Breaking the kiss for only a moment he resurfaces with the container of lube, fumbling it in his hands for a moment before coating himself in it. You watch him shudder from its coolness and you lean up, kissing anything he might be thinking away. You're both too far gone to comprehend much anymore, but he rams you against the wall again. God, you think, and it's all you can think. God, god, god.

He jerks himself off a couple of times and then you. Togami's breaths are hard and heavy, addictive lips clamping themselves to your neck as he raises your leg to his waist again. You'd assist him, but your hands are tied, and they ache for a moment, reminding you before you feel him nudging at your entrance. Good god, finally, you think, right before he thrusts himself inside you and you voice your thoughts. Togami swears loudly again, one hand coming up and bracing himself on the wall next to your head, panting hard and heavy into your shoulder. "God." He whispers and you quake in response, agreeing with him. God. His skin is hellfire inside you and you can feel every bit of him. A live wire sparks you to ignition.

And that same wire sparks him to move, finally, and he pulls himself out slowly. No more "hums" like you're very interesting anymore; he can't contain himself and that's visible in his bright blue eyes, in the way his mouth works at the sensitive parts of your throat, the way his fingers around your leg tighten and convulse. He presses forward into you again. You swell up the wall a ways, and come back down when he pulls back out, and just like that you two find a rhythm that echoes in the back of your chest. You are the surf on the ocean, riding his waves up and down and they hurt, at first but he can't bring himself to ask and you can't bring yourself to care. Pain turns into a stretched, swollen feeling that wracks pleasure from the core of your being. Nothing matters, not even the video camera angulated at you two from the corner of the room.

"God, fuck, Makoto," he croons into your neck and when he pulls out a bit, when you can think for a moment you thank Monobear for sound proofing the rooms because he's loud. Not that you're not--on the cusps of his thrusts you cough up his name to the ceiling, and his teeth scrape at you so you moan it louder--but his swears are bubbling out of him like he's stringing them with your name tied on the end, a vocal daisy chain of desire. He shoves himself fully into you with more vigor, your erection bouncing against your stomach almost painfully. "Makoto," he cries again, in that pretty vulgar mouth of his that he's putting to good use, almost tearing the skin from your collarbone but you encourage it, head tilted back so far it hits the wall every time he peaks. Your bodies are a machine, and the thumping smack of his balls hitting you is the throb of your engine.

That little pressed box of rawness in your stomach blossoms wider, and you hiss. Every time he thrusts in you bear down as hard as you can, and his cock just barely hits something inside of you that wrenches a keen from you that you didn't even know you could make. The shivers start again but they pleasure you. Sweat gathers across your body and his movements become slicker, more hurried against you, inside you. It's heaven, literal heaven, and you try to angle yourself so he hits that spot inside of you. You stretch, accommodate, stretch and writhe until he seems to get your notion and he manages to hit it again. You moan out something that's supposed to be 'yes'. Sir, please, you almost humor him again, but Icarus does not play with celestial bodies in the souls of teenagers. You're not brave enough for that.

And then he rams into you again with a fervor. You can actually feel almost every organ inside you tingling, and you begin to feel ready to pop. Tension grips your shaking limbs and you rock and buck with him, moans becoming louder and louder, ready to burst and so you lift up your other leg, wrapping it against his waist and he catches it almost immediately, smashing you against the wall to keep you from falling. His mouth moves to yours and he kisses you again.

White noise kicks in loud, a ringing of the ears that spreads to your eyes and you finally explode; the white hot box inside you opens and bursts and you're done, you're finished. You barely feel the semen shooting across your stomach. You barely register his own grunt, or how you're pulled forward and draped over his shoulder and how, without pulling himself out of you he unties your hands and neck with lithe digits, or even how he drags you over to the bed and sits down. You shake in his grip because goodbye world, you are gone and the white noise slowly begins to disappear, and his movements continue inside you, but they don't feel delicious anymore. Your skin still cracks and sings with pleasure, and you want Togami's to as well.

The way you've been moved now is straddling him, sitting facing him while he perches on the bed and buries his face into your shoulder and wraps his arms around you like he's afraid now that you're spent that you'll leave, bucking and thrusting up into you all the same. He's close, you can see the way his toes curl and the way the syllables in your name stick to his teeth like cheap taffy. In response you flex new free fingers around his own back, holding him sweetly as you begin to rise and fall again, grinding against him as hard and as well as you can. His breathing gets heavier, lips part and bite down hard on your shoulder and you wince but take it, his teeth gouging holes in soft pink. His thrusts become erratic, violent almost, with the death grip he has on you. You watch him sadly, almost.

His movements peak, after a long moment of heavy gasps slapping raw against your skin and he shoots semen into you, and you gasp into him because damn, he's burning up and you're still sensitive. But you let him use you anyways, arching and humming out your name, and you ride him out, gently accepting. Your palms rub his shoulders almost encouragingly. You make very certain to be noting but careful, kind; you are his sharp flaw, his contrast. And you make damn certain that your hickeys are in his line of vision, the bright scarlet like a big circle marking everything wrong, and you want him to see. When he stills himself enough he pulls you down on the bed next to him, rolling over and draping his arm over you, holding your still frame to his shaking chest. You listen to his breathing.

It's quite evident that Togami had been entirely washed up in the moment and now that the moment was over he seems lost, distant from the ambassador like role he had been playing. A penchant sigh pops out from you, surprisingly, and he huffs out your name, a whisper of a thing. It has no power over you anymore; let his passion be forgotten into the immediate past. So you lay there a second, letting him revel in his power before you decide to take it all away. How quickly, the demeanor changes in the room. So first, you shift yourself into a slow sitting position, and he tugs at you to try and get you back down but you resist his pale embrace.

The soft shirt that he adorned you with is torn off, but you stand up and totter over to the dresser, placing it right on top of his jacket and tie. Your legs strain in protest. You can feel his gaze upon your back. Everything hurts; your insides, the still bloodied mark on your backside, your elbows and kneecaps and the roof of your mouth and your raw cheek and the seven reminders dotting your neck and the back of your skull. You feel like you've been hit by a train. You've been bit by worse before. Once you begin to think about the pain it pulses to your core, surmounting to more than the pleasure he had forced upon you too quickly. Still, you yank yourself across cursed carpets and lean over to pick up soiled cotton shirt. That's when he speaks in a hoarse chipped voice, old paint and all;

"Come back."

Your anger grows like a virus inside your chest, fueled by the bruises upon your chest and torso. You refuse him, pulling your shirt on over your head, and they're immediately followed by the replacement of your boxers, and you feel a bit better. Honestly if this had been any other situation you would advocate against fighting fire with fire. This was a unique happening, though, and so your spite turns you toward him and you look at him. He's pulled himself up into a sitting position, face unreadable through the jolted shadows flickering through the room and across his cheeks. Togami's face is thrown into a sharp relief. Questions burn on your tongue like the immense heat that had flooded you earlier: shame erupts, just thinking of it, and you heat up, fingers passing over your mouth. You speak into your palm. "Were you really going to kill me if I left?"

He doesn't respond after a long, long moment so you ask something else. "Was this really supposed to be revenge?"

"Yes," he snaps back, his shoulders tensing forwards like he's offended you'd ask so you figure he's lying. Shoulders jerk up at his response on your behalf and you turn away, walking towards the door. If he really wanted to break you he should have tried harder. If he really had wanted you not to defend him, why would he have even bothered setting up something so elaborate to do so? Togami would just walk up to you and hiss at you and even if he pulled out a switchblade and stuck it in your ribs you would never stop defending them from despair, from the trials, from each other. So you pause, hand on the door handle, and you can hear him moving forward a bit, as if he's expecting you to turn around but you're done humoring him tonight. 

"No," you say, "you haven't broken me. Not in the slightest. If that's what you were even after in the first place. I'm...not stupid, Togami-kun." You clear your throat a bit before barely glancing over your shoulder. It's almost physically impossible to make eye contact at this point; everything's so embarrassing, awkward, and painful. "If you wanted--I mean, if you has asked, I would have...probably said yes." And the last part of your little speech is squeaked out in a mortified whisper, as you clear your throat once again. That's the bitter truth, and you speak in the lowest, gentlest tones because you don't want to tell him the truth but you both deserve that, at least, having been locked in a glorified gladiator match with thirteen others. If he had asked for a night like this with you, chances are you would have given him the benefit of the doubt, minus the pain and humiliation. But you don't blame him.

Togami doesn't respond, and it doesn't even sound like he breathes in the moment, so you wrench open the door and throw yourself out, letting it click shut behind you. A soft sigh escapes you and you slump against the wall. Pain erupts warm and cold along your body. It'd probably be a better idea to go to the nurses office before you go to bed, but you can't bring yourself to stand up, to even move. If you have to, you'll crawl down the damn hallway, but a door opening nearby you makes you jump back to attention. Slight figure exits, long hair flipping over a shoulder nonchalantly, and a gloved hand is held out to you wordlessly.

"He'd been muttering about it to himself all day," Kirigiri says curtly. Her voice is sticks and broken glass but it's smooth and it crashes into you, a stark contrast from Togami's smothering tones. You take her hand and stand up, and instantly your arm is pulled over her shoulder. She takes part of your body weight into her willowy frame, her height and heels almost towering next to you, and she walks, taking slow, measures steps. You shuffle along next to her messily. Everything still hurts, every part of your body and your head and your psyche and you mutter to her to just take you to your room, the nurses office is too much trouble and of course she ignores you, grip tightening on your unmarred shoulder. "My apologies," she speaks over your quiet mumbling, "I merely thought his plans were the product of a deluded fantasy. I should have stopped him, Naegi-kun." 

You hold up a hand and pull yourself away from her, teetering towards your door and she stops, watching you through lilac eyes. She's so intelligent, you realize quickly; so made of stone and wit and able to perceive anything before her. Unfortunately, it's literally impossible to tell what she is thinking at any one time. You think you see pity, maybe? And a hint of worry? You two look at each other for a long moment before you speak in a voice that doesn't even sound like it belongs to you; "No. I think...he would have done it anyways. I think...he needed that?" You tilt your head, dull ache erupting underneath your bones. "Does that make sense?"

Surprisingly, she nods, and you nod back. "They'll heal," you say, "everything does, after a while." And you don't know if you mean your bruises or the rest of the student body but Kirigiri bows her head in agreement or something akin to it. They'll heal. Everything will heal. "I'm not going to stop protecting us though. If it comes down to me every time, then I can live with that, I think." You speak of the trials, of how she always hands everything over to you because she knows you and her are on the same wavelength and that's a beautiful moment, almost, when she can make eye contact with you and you figure it out. 

"I wouldn't have it any other way," she says.

"But I'll need your help. I can't...I can't damn everyone." You think of Leon, and Mondo, and shiver.

She bows, now, a low skirting movement. Of course she'll help. "You can't always be so trusting. It will come back and bite you," she says before turning and walking away, down the hall and turning a corner until the twisting darkness carries her out of view. You don't know what she's doing out after dark but you trust her, and as she walks her hair swishes but she doesn't turn back and look at you. Another door opens behind you, and you quickly duck yourself into your room, closing the door behind you and turning the lock. You check and check again and triple check the lock. Fatigue muddles you, and dull motions carry you over to your bed before you collapse, falling asleep almost just as you touch the pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah. this was. hm. not sure if i'm satisfied with this one.  
> did kirigiri make a shitty hickey pun at the end? hell yes, she did. completely unintentional, believe me.


End file.
